For eight years, Terrance Roberts carried the burden of hope in his northeast Park Hill neighborhood, balancing between the violent world of the Bloods street gang and his quest for redemption.

It was a weight he embraced: Hope that as a former Blood, he could find a way out of the gangster life and help lead others in a different direction. Hope that the city had found a partner in turning around the neighborhood near Holly Square. Hope that he could reach kids before it was too late.

Today, Roberts faces attempted-murder charges. He is in hiding, exiled from his home, his job and the community he sought to serve. He said he’s worried about the kids in his anti-gang, nonprofit Prodigal Son program, who have to deal with “the fear and possible shame” of being linked to his organization.

Police said Roberts, 37, shot a reputed Blood last month during a community rally he had helped to organize. Roberts claimed he was threatened, but witnesses told police he shot the man at least five times, twice while he lay motionless on the ground.

The shooting bewildered people who had invested in Roberts as a leader who helped bring change to a troubled neighborhood.

“He, more than anybody, wanted to make sure we were able to quash incidents on the street,” said Denver Mayor Michael Hancock, who worked closely with Roberts. “That’s what makes this situation so difficult to deal with.”

Some people say that hope in Roberts was misplaced. They accuse him of being more interested in promoting himself than helping the neighborhood. They said he still dabbled in gang life and had lost the trust and respect of many he claimed to serve.

Roberts’ allies remain hopeful he will find new ways to contribute after an expected criminal prosecution. But they concede that it likely will be someplace else — far from the peace poles, camouflage buildings and basketball courts that redefined Holly Square on his watch.

Roberts shadowed Kelly’s after-school programs in Five Points and decided he wanted to do the same type of work in Park Hill, where he grew up.

He launched Prodigal Son a year later.

Roberts set up his headquarters in northeast Park Hill, a post-war neighborhood that was for decades rattled by noise from the former Stapleton Airport. At its heart was the Holly Square Shopping Center, a low-slung strip mall anchored by a dollar store at East 33rd Avenue and Holly Street.

He rented a space across the street and began working with neighborhood kids.

Roberts was one of the first community members to demand the eyesore be turned into something positive.

With help from the city, the Urban Land Conservancy purchased the property in 2009. Many community meetings were held to develop a design for the six-block area, known as the Holly Area Redevelopment Project, to link the existing HOPE Center, Hiawatha Davis rec center and Skyland Park with new amenities.

Basketball courts — flanked by 12 “peace poles” salvaged from the wreckage of the shopping center and decorated with images of peacemakers including Desmond Tutu — were the first project to be completed.

The most recent was the Boys and Girls Club that celebrated its grand opening Saturday.

“He was an integral part of HARP and our redevelopment,” said HOPE Center executive director Gerie Grimes. “Regardless of the tragic situation, he is still an integral part of where we’ve gotten, from the past to now.”

Diminished credibility

Among the young gang members Roberts tried to reach was the man he is accused of shooting, Hasan “Munch” Jones , 22. They had gone to Nuggets games together, and Jones visited the Prodigal Son office, those who know both men said.

Still, Jones remained entrenched in gang life. In 2010, he pleaded guilty to assault in a domestic violence case. The same year, officers who arrested him for possessing individually wrapped rocks of crack cocaine described him as “a violent gang member.”

And like some others in the neighborhood, Jones was increasingly disillusioned with Roberts, whom he had come to see as a snitch who still wanted a stake in gang life.

Jones “got a chance to witness two different individuals,” said Carl McKay, 42, who runs a shop at East 33rd and Holly. “When you’re not firm in who you are, and you allow people to see a different side … then, yeah, it’s going to lead to questions.”

McKay grew up with Roberts, supported his anti-gang work and advised him along the way.

Roberts continued to personally involve himself in gang dramas, and Mc-Kay said that diminished his credibility among those he sought to help. Roberts seemed particularly conflicted by the slaying of his childhood friend Charles Harris in the neighborhood in April.

“The way he was feeling suggested he had forgotten what career path he had chosen,” McKay said. “I had to remind him of that career path.”

Rumors started to swirl that Roberts was dealing drugs and keeping ties to his former gang.

The accusations had begun to wear on Roberts, said Five Points community leader Jeff Fard.

“As someone who knows Terrance relatively well, I know he was not involved,” Fard said. “His camo movement was about countering the negative elements of the gang culture. He was always working to take the negative elements out and to build community.”

Roberts’ Colorado Camouflage Movement encouraged youth to wear camouflage instead of the red of the Bloods and the blue of the Crips. Some buildings near Holly Square are painted camouflage.

But McKay said even that ended up sending mixed messages when people, including Roberts, started wearing camouflage caps with letters representing different neighborhoods — “P” for Park Hill, “E” for East Side or “A” for Aurora.

Roberts’ involvement in “Drugs, Inc.,” a National Geographic television series that for months had been filming in Park Hill and other parts of Denver, further aggravated neighborhood tensions.

The show painted Park Hill in a false light, McKay and others said. Clips show gang members, faces masked by red bandanas, talking about drug dealing. It appeared to some that Roberts was trying to make money by showing the camera crews around the neighborhood.

It eroded trust, especially for Jones, who took him to task. Roberts didn’t take it well.

“When a person feels like they changed the conditions of the people, then who are the people to question?” McKay said. “And that’s what led to all the (conflict).”

Some street cops and gang detectives also were wary of Roberts, finding his past hard to ignore.

But Cmdr. Mike Calo saw him as a partner with a similar goal. Calo oversaw the police department’s gang unit when Roberts was launching Prodigal Son. He now commands the District 2 station in northeast Denver.

“We’d get together to talk about what was going on in the neighborhood, not as an informant, but to get a feel about what was going on with him and his agency and if there was anything we could do to assist,” Calo said. “He was someone we could call to find out what we could do to diffuse situations.”

But Calo said he never pressed Roberts for confidential information.

“It was truly a collaboration for working toward the goal to have peace in the neighborhood,” Calo said.

Home life in turmoil

Prodigal Son started 2013 with serious financial problems.

Contributions were increasing, but for three years starting in 2009, the organization spent more than it raised. By the end of 2011, Prodigal Son was more than $5,000 in the red, according to Internal Revenue Service documents.

In January, Roberts said he needed to raise $60,000 to keep the doors open.

Through Denver Health, Prodigal Son received nearly $100,000 from the city in 2012 to cover the salaries of two outreach workers. This year, another $127,000 was available from the city. So far, about half of that has been paid. According to the city, none of the outreach money went directly to Roberts.

Soon after Roberts made his plea for cash, the Anschutz Foundation, funded by Denver billionaire Philip Anschutz and his family, announced a $5 million gift to help build the Boys and Girls Club. It was the fulfillment of Roberts’ own dream for the neighborhood, but it also forced him to change programming at Prodigal Son because it duplicated the club’s work.

By March, he’d raised about $30,000, but his home life was in turmoil.

Kelly worried that Roberts’ was spending too much time at work. “I used to pull him aside and say, ‘Hold up. You need to be dealing with your own family.’ “

Roberts and his wife divorced in August.

On the street, people noticed his temper was growing short. He complained he was getting no respect. Even his allies said he was more hot-headed.

Shooting at rally

As the sun began to set on Sept. 20, scores of people gathered at Holly Square for the “One Love Black Unity Rally” Roberts had helped plan. The shooting happened at the start of the event, near the peace courts, where a group of Bloods were playing basketball.

“All you would have shot him, too,” an officer heard Roberts tell the crowd.

A convicted felon, Roberts can’t legally possess a gun.

Connect the Kids founder Erik Myhren, who has worked with Roberts on projects with inner-city kids since the beginning of Prodigal Son, believes that Roberts acted to save his own life.

“I genuinely believe Terrance felt there was no other choice,” he said. “It wasn’t done out of anger. He sat there after with a gun and the kid lying on the ground.”

But several people on the courts that day said Roberts targeted Jones.

Kelly said Roberts had been dealing with threats and increasing pressure from the Bloods. Others dismiss that claim.

“People say, ‘What was he thinking?’ ” said Kelly. “Whether he was threatened or not, if he felt threatened, that would put him in survival mode.”

Focused on faith

Roberts, who was released on $100,000 bond, will be advised of the charges against him on Monday.

In an interview late Wednesday, he was circumspect about his change in trajectory.

“Did I lose my job and place of residence? Am I dealing with legal things? Yes,” he said. “I’m discombobulated. But I’ve been through worse, and for worse reasons.”

He is focused on the faith he developed while in prison, reading the Bible and the teachings of Martin Luther King Jr.

“The Lord is with me,” he said. “I feel very confident about my life right now, where I am at right now with everything and my future. One incident with me with guys who did not agree with my message is not going to deter my message from the millions of people who need it. “

Though the possibility of prison looms, he envisions a future helping redevelop blighted neighborhoods.

He is proud of his work in Park Hill and Holly Square, and ponders the many previous supporters who have not stepped up to speak on his behalf.

“I understand people have to try to protect their best interests,” he said. “But on the flip side, it’s not like you guys didn’t understand what I was going through then. When I expressed it, you called me ‘an angry black man.’ “

Jones, who remains hospitalized, hasn’t been able to feel his legs. His uncle, Jabulani Abdalla, said he has improved enough to send text messages to friends and family.

Jones’ father, Abdalla’s nephew, is Isaac “Big Ice” Alexander, who has a criminal past that spans two decades and who ran with Roberts in the Bloods in the 1990s, Abdalla said.

The whole family is reeling.

Concerns remain about retaliation, but older former gang members have been trying to keep the lid on flaring tempers, said one man who gave his name only as “OG.”

“We’re not going to let that happen,” he said. “The legal system will take care of Terrance.”

And God will take care of Jones, Kelly said.

“Maybe Hasan will take on the mantle that Terrance has left,” Kelly said. “If he made as much of an impact, that would help fill the void.”

Abdalla is not so sure. Whoever takes the torch, he said, will have an uphill battle because a lot of people feel Roberts betrayed them.

But Mayor Hancock said though Roberts was visible and vocal, he was only one player in the city’s fight against gang violence.

“There is a whole army of individuals and organizations that have stepped up. Terrance was one of those people, but he was not the only one,” Hancock said. “It’s a tremendous loss. It has staggered the whole effort, but it is an effort that is resilient.”